


Hearts of Wildflowers

by Grandapplewit



Series: Wildflowers [1]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bucky Barnes Feels, Captain America: The First Avenger Compliant, Explicit Sexual Content, Internal organs lovingly described, Internalized Homophobia, Multi, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Bucky Barnes, Omega Peggy Carter, Oops, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Slow Burn, Steve/bucky doesn't actually happen in this fic, WWII, mutual unrequited pining, no beta we die like Steve's character development, the Howling Commandos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:27:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29672121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grandapplewit/pseuds/Grandapplewit
Summary: Bucky and Steve. Steve and Bucky. It started, as all things do, in a moment. Two misfits against the world, everything right as rain even as Steve coughed his lungs to pieces and Bucky worked his hands to the bone. But then the war came, and Bucky, a Beta in everything but truth, is drafted to the front lines, and Steve is swept up and turned into everything he never dreamed he'd be.But the war doesn't care about its soldiers, doesn't mind who it chews up and what it spits out.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Howard Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers
Series: Wildflowers [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2180421
Comments: 21
Kudos: 26





	1. The Beginning of the End

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is brought to you by Folklore by Taylor Swift, and I have a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3PrSb3dbQmvSIsnIQEjUP2?si=xkSyWDnWT6uLlbwgSs_ySQ) here!

It started, as all things do, in a moment. A split second that fractures time apart and spins normal on its head. That moment for Bucky Barnes was on a breezy spring day in 1930, in the alley behind his Ma’s favorite deli. The sounds of fists hitting flesh echoed through the air, along with indecipherable yelling and a few pained grunts that weren’t quite as loud as they should’ve been, given the sight Bucky walked into.

Three kids, a few years older than Bucky, were jeering and yelling, shoving a tiny stick of a kid with a mop of blond hair against the wall of the deli. The kid, instead of backing down and letting the fellas from Flatbush say their piece and getting off with a black eye and most of his teeth, gave as good as he got. Or at least he tried. He struck out, bony fist catching the closest guy in the jaw. From the way he started cussing even louder, the punch just served to rile him up even more.

The other two guys laughed, holding the kid between them as the third wound up, sticking his fist right in the kid's gut. The kid, familiar in a way Bucky couldn’t put his finger on, doubled over in a wheeze.

Oh.

Bucky knew that wheeze. He’d heard it echoing through the halls of his school, from one of the kids a few years younger than him.

“Hey!” somebody yelled out, and if the boys hadn’t paused to glare at him, Bucky might not have realized it had been him. “Pick on somebody your own size.”

_Shit._ Now he really wasn’t getting home in time for dinner.

The boys dropped the kid, looking like death's door, and started towards Bucky.

“What’d you say, pal?” the one the kid had punched, Bucky was taking to calling him ‘lockjaw,’ stepping out a little farther than the others.

“I said, why don’t you pick on somebody your own size? What, you need to get your ears checked?” This wasn’t gonna end well. At all. But at least their attention was off of the kid, who was just about able to stand up straight, and––

The kid was no longer standing up straight.

No, he’d grabbed the brick holding the trashes lid down, and lobbed it full force at Lockjaws head. It was a surprisingly hard throw for such a skinny arm.

Apparently, it felt like it too, because when it hit Lockjaw’s shoulder, he crashed to the ground with a grunt.

And then it was on.

In all honestly, Bucky could’ve left at any point. He could’ve backed away, run home and prayed that his Ma wouldn’t ask where he’d been. He was a fast enough runner, and the kid was good enough at getting their attention. But there was something that kept him there. Something about the fire in the kid's eyes after he took hit after hit, and kept standing up. The fight, if it even could be called that, was fast. Even with Bucky joining in, they were still sorely out-matched.

Finally, after Bucky’s lip had gone numb from the number of times it had gotten split open, a loud clang echoed through the alley.

“Hey! What’re you punks doin’ out here?” Mr. Cohen, the owner of the Deli, yelled as he threw down a large bag of trash. The boys ran off, Lockjaw in the lead, leaving Bucky and the kid t scrape themselves off the pavement. “Barnes, your Ma know you’re out here?”

“No, sir,” he dragged himself to his feet, offering a hand to the kid. Though, on a second look, he wasn’t much of a kid. He was probably Bucky’s age, maybe a little bit younger. “I took a shortcut home from school, got a little… distracted.”

Mr. Cohen was a grouchy man, a short Beta who’d run the neighborhood Deli for more years than Bucky thought one could possibly stay in one place. He always grumbled and fussed whenever Bucky’s Ma sent him for meats or extra potatoes, but he never failed to slip in an extra sweet when Bucky wasn’t looking.

Mr. Cohen grunted, shaking his head.

“I know how your Ma feels about shortcuts, Barnes. You take care now, don’t you start looking for trouble you can’t finish,” he huffed, slamming the door shut. The kid at Bucky’s feet laughed and glanced up at him.

“I had ‘em on the ropes,” he grunted while pulling himself up, a rough smile strewn across his face.

“’Course ya did, pal,” Bucky laughed, settling a hand on the kid's skinny shoulder. “But what were you doing picking a bone with those Flatbush fellas?”

“They were talkin’ about my Ma, sayin’ the ladies at church were gossiping about her and that she was easy for never remarryin’,” the kid wiped the blood off of his face, shaking the dust out of his hair. He shrugged ruefully. “I told them to shut their traps, and they didn’t seem to like that.”

“Really? Couldn’t tell,” Bucky drawled, stifling a laugh. “Who’s your Ma, anyways?”

“Sarah Rogers, she’s a nurse.”

“You don’t say,” Bucky took another look at the kid, bright blue eyes simmering in challenge and more bruises and blood than skin.

“What, you got somethin’ to say too?” the kid seemed to puff up in anger, never mind that he just took a beating and Bucky had at least thirty pounds on him.

“Hey, take it easy pal,” Bucky raised his hands in surrender, “your Ma was the only nurse that came down to look at my baby sister when she caught measles a few years back, I ain’t gonna say nothin’ bad.”

The kid deflated like a popped balloon.

“Say, you’re Steve Rogers, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m Steve,” he stuck out his hand. “I’m sorry, I don’t…”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m Bucky–– well, James Barnes, but everybody calls me Bucky. I’m in the year above you at school.” Steve’s hands were light and thin, his fingers calloused in ways Bucky wasn’t quite used to. “Say, I got some chocolate in my bag, wanna split it?”

Steve eyed him quizzically, like he wasn’t sure if it was a joke or not.

“…sure,” he answered finally, sticking his hands into the pockets of his too-big slacks.

~~~~

Bucky Barnes was different than any boy Steve had met before. He was tall, smart, had the meanest throwing arm Steve had ever seen, and could charm the pants off of anybody, even old Ms. Jones, who didn’t have the patience for nobody. By all rights, he should be leaving Steve in the dust, running with the fellas that thought they were the sharpest tack in the box.

But he didn’t.

No, Bucky Barnes was kind. He never treated Steve any different, even when he was getting the snot kicked out of him or when his asthma kicked up and he could barely manage a walk without wheezing.

He didn’t treat Steve like glass either, like all the well-meaning adults tended to do.

Steve might’ve been more grateful for that than anything.

After the alley, they’d strolled around Brooklyn for hours, till both their Ma’s were walking tracks into the carpet. They’d talked, complained about the blood on their clothes, laughed at a pigeon hassling an alley cat for her scraps.

Steve laid in bed, ear stinging from his Ma flicking it as she’d pulled him into a hug, grinning like a loon at the dark ceiling.

“ _I made a friend, Ma.”_

She’d stopped yelling at him when he’d said that, mouth lifting in surprise.

“ _That’s swell, Stevie. What’s his name, huh?”_

The sweetness of the chocolate they’d shared had stayed on his lips all night, even through Ma’s creamed chip beef. The chocolate Bucky’d given him had been little coins, slightly melted from his bag, but good, nonetheless. Bucky’d said they were called gelt, and he’d been hiding them from his sisters since Hanukkah.

He said he’d been waiting for the right person to share them with.

The mattress creaked under him as he shifted, tugging the threadbare blankets over his shoulders. Ma’s humming filtered through the door, along with the sounds of her packing her bag, preparing for a night at the hospital. A zipper closed. A candle blown out. The door shut and locked.

It was late, the stars staring down at him through the window that never seemed to latch right in winter, then never wanted to open in summer. They twinkled, shining over the city, the moon something close to full.

“ _His name’s Bucky, Ma. Bucky Barnes.”_

~~~~

The dust kicked up under Steve’s feet, the pounding of his heart beating time with his desperate wheezes. He was running alone this time, for the first time in almost two years, and the lack of Bucky’s bright laughter and distracting words was almost enough to distract him from the pain in his chest. The heat flooding through his veins. The twitchiness that itched under his skin.

He just had to get home, had to see Ma, ‘cause something was _wrong_.

Sitting through Ms. Jones’ history lesson had been torture. Where he was usually cold, bundled up in layer after layer so he didn’t catch a chill, he’d sweated through his clothes in minutes. It had gotten so bad that even Minnie Juliard, who was usually pretty nice, had wrinkled her nose at him and scooted her chair as far away as she could get on their shared table.

And then Ms. Jones had noticed.

She’d stared at him for a long moment, mouth hanging open long enough to catch flies, before taking a deep sniff and consequently flying off the handle. Her eyes had almost bugged out of her head, face red and arms flailing. He would’ve laughed if he wasn’t so thoroughly mortified.

If she hadn’t been shrieking.

They’d had a couple kids Present that year. Disappearing from school for a week or a long weekend and coming back with large smiles and a brand-new scent to go along with them.

They’d never had anyone Present _in-class_ , though. So, it was probably just his luck that it was _him_.

But it was _what_ she was yelling that gave him pause. Before she’d even finished, he’d been gathering his things and sprinting out of the classroom, to the laughter of his classmates.

_An Alpha._

She’d said he was an _Alpha._

Him. Steve Rogers. An Alpha.

Honestly, he’d wanted to laugh along with the other kids in his class.

Alpha’s were big, and mean, and possessive. They puffed themselves up and walked around like they didn’t have to think about anybody but themselves. They got into stupid fights with each other, and thought they were better than any other Presentation.

Steve wanted to be anything other than an Alpha.

Alpha’s were bullies. They pushed and shoved until they got what they wanted. They were big, and strong, and they weren’t _him._

Hell, half the fella’s he’d picked a bone with over the years had ended up as Alpha’s, if that wasn’t telling enough.

And it wasn’t like his classmates and the older boys needed anything else to push him around about. Who was he going to protect, if he couldn’t even win a fight without Bucky swooping in to save him?

_Bucky._

Bucky was probably wondering where he was. Was probably waiting by the fence, waving ‘hi’ to Suzie Sullivan and her friends as they passed and giggled. They did that a lot when Bucky was around. Steve wished he had a way to contact him, tell him he was fine, tell him he was losing his mind.

The window was open.

Ma was home.

He banged right through the door, barely turning the knob before it was opening, smacking it against the wall with a call of “ _Ma!”_

“Steven Grant Rogers, _what_ have I told you about slamming into the door? You know–– oh.” She stepped into view, taking in his sweat-soaked form and flushed face. Her face was pulled up and away from her face, thimble still hooked onto her finger. “Oh, honey, what… what happened?”

“um…” his face turned an even brighter red, blushing on top of the flush of exertion. “Ms. Jones said I’m… presenting?”

Ma’s eyebrows raised in surprise, blinking a few times for good measure.

“Well, in that case, close the door, hon, we don’t want to be bothering the neighbors,” she motioned him forewords, skirt swishing around her shins. She pressed a hand to his forehead, wiping his hair out of his face. “How do you feel?”

“Warm. My chest hurts. Twitchy.” He scrunched up his nose, trying to come up with anything else to describe the feeling.

“… twitchy, huh?” Ma took a step back, lifting her hand to take a whiff of whatever scent was coming from his sweat. He couldn’t smell anything, but apparently, everybody else could. “Oh! Oh, honey, you’re an Alpha!”

And there it was, the truth.

God, Bucky was gonna shit himself when he heard.

~~~~

The schoolyard had long since emptied by the time Bucky turned to trudge home. Steve was nowhere to be found and asking around just led to muffled laughter from the other students, confusion from the teachers.

The sun was still high in the sky, warm September breeze kicking up crispy brown leaves, and something had happened to Steve.

Steve’s home sat in the opposite direction of his own. It was a quick enough walk, but he’d waited long enough that doing anything but running straight home was going to put him on the wrong side of Ma’s ire, but…

It was Steve. And if something had happened, Bucky shoulda been there.

It was an easy decision, really.

DUMBO was up by the river, and it was one of the reasons Ma wanted him back home by supper whenever he hung around with Steve. It was… different than Crown Heights, that was for sure, but Bucky thought it had a certain charm to it. Sure, there was more broken glass on the ground than windows, and turning down the wrong alley gave you a high chance of catching an eyeful, but it had the sense of community about it that Bucky only felt when his entire Temple went out singing on Rosh Hashanah.

“Hey, Bucky!” one of the girls that worked at the Hotel on the main road called, flapping a wet rag at him. She was tiny, almost shorter than Bucky, though he hadn’t hit his growth spurt yet. She always had a kind smile, and smelled like roasting peaches, and was always nice to Stevie when he stuttered his way through a conversation with her, but Bucky’d also seen her pull a knife on an Alpha almost three times her size, so he tried not to get overly familiar.

That and his Ma raised him right, but that was beside the point.

“Hey, Evelyn, Madame DuBrough have you on window duty again?” her smile lit up. Most guys around didn’t bother to remember her name.

“Sure do, something about learning control and not ruining all the pretty dresses she buys me, but between you and me,” she leaned in, smirking conspiratorially, “I think she just wanted me to catch some big dumb Alpha’s eyes, so he’d come help little ol’ me.”

She pulled back with a bat of her eyelashes, and Bucky couldn’t help but laugh.

“Like you need any help, Evelyn, and most of the Alpha’s ‘round here know it,” he plucked at his school bag, leaning against the brick wall of the Hotel.

“Mmm, but I hear we’re getting’ a new Alpha round here,” her smirk took a sharp edge even as she turned back to the window. It looked clean enough, but… the Madame did have a point. Evelyn sure did make a sight, reaching all the way up to her tiptoes to hit the top of the frame.

“Oh? Somebody movin’ in?” The Hotel took in long-term stays, as well as renting out hourly rates.

“No, no, the rooms are all booked, but Stevie ran by here not that long ago, runnin’ like he had Hell nippin’ at his heels. Thought there was some kinda trouble at first, before I smelled him,” she glanced at him, smirk softening. “Smelled like a whole damn forest, one of those giant ones out West, and that pie your Ma brought over last year. Almost couldn’t believe my nose, but I think _somebody’s_ gonna need some of that pie, for the week he’s in for.”

Bucky just stared at her. He could feel his mouth hanging open, his tongue drying out, but he couldn’t do a damn thing to close it.

He needed to go see Stevie.

“Hey, I’ll… catch you later, Evelyn,” he started, already moving off down the block. Her laughter followed him, but it wasn’t mean.

Steve. An Alpha.

Of course he was, it fit so well, but…

The doctors had always told Steve that he might not ever Present, might not make it through a Rut or a Heat if he did. The strain would be too much for a body already held together by onion broth and spite.

Stevie, his little Alpha. It’d be a riot if he turned out to be an Omega. Both of them something nobody ever predicted. But both Bucky’s Ma and Pa came from long lines of Alpha men and Omega women, and biology was a stringy thing. Plus, Ma was already under enough stress taking care of him and his sister, he didn’t need to go and worry her whenever he took a step outside.

And it’s not like male Omega’s lived long, anyways. Somebody always had a bone to pick with them, whether it was over some perceived slight, or some bonehead getting his knickers in a twist over another man being able to have a child.

Still, it was a nice thought. Him and Steve, two misfits running together against the world. It’d be a gas.

Rickety stairs led up to an even ricketier door. It was chipped, paint peeling and wood warped, but it still locked, so Steve’s Ma said it was good enough.

Not like anybody had enough money to fix it if it weren’t, but that was neither here nor there.

Knocking on it made it rattle on its hinges, even though he wasn’t hitting that hard.

He didn’t think he was, anyways.

“Oh, Bucky!” Mrs. Rogers smiled, pulling the door open from under his fist. He tipped forewords, catching himself on the doorframe before he could faceplant right into her floral blouse. He never blushed easy, but his face burned as he spluttered out apologies to her widening smile.

“Hi, Mrs. Rogers, is Steve here? I was waitin’ for him at school, but he never showed,” He smiled, pushing his hair out of his face. She brightened up, pulling the door open even farther and beckoning him in.

“Oh, yes, Stevie’s here, he’ll probably want to see you, since he won’t be in school for a few days,” she closed the door behind him, and in the hallway, he could smell it. It was faint, more like the ghost of a scent than the usual burn of a newly Presented Alpha, but it was there. Freshly fallen pine and warm apples over the earthy smell of charcoal. “He’s in his room, you can go on in, Bucky.”

Steve’s room, and it wasn’t really Steve’s, he and his Ma shared it since she usually worked while he was sleeping. It was small, quiet, a place for curling up and forgetting the world. He stood in front of the peeling wood, hand raised to knock, Mrs. Rogers puttering around the kitchen trying to prep for the next week of Steve’s body resetting itself.

He didn’t know why it was such a big deal.

~~~~

Steve could feel his bones itching under his skin, blood boiling with the urge to _do_ something. What that _something_ was, he didn’t know, but pacing could only alleviate it so much.

The room was small, the walls aching to close in. He’d grown up in this room, could count the cracks in the ceiling and paint peels on the walls in his sleep, but now it felt stifling. It smelled… _nice._ Fresh, like flowers in spring and a cool breeze in the heat of summer. It was awful.

His Ma’s scent was meant to be calming, had always _been_ calming, but he didn’t want to be calm. He wanted to snap and pace and pick a fight with the next person that walked into the room.

And there would be someone walking into the room soon because he could sense them standing outside the door. He couldn’t smell them, couldn’t tell who they were, couldn’t pick out the voice murmuring with Ma in the hallway.

He didn’t know who it was, but he didn’t care, because they were in his home, in his _space_ , and–

“Hey, punk, still alive in there?”

_Oh._

Of course Bucky Barnes would risk his Ma’s ire to make sure he was alright.

The walls bend back into their original place.

“Why don’t you come in and see, you jerk,” he laughed, breathing out the tension winding in his shoulders. The door opened, and there was Bucky, brown hair flopping over his forehead and shirt wrinkling around his suspenders.

He walked right in, never mind the smell, stepping over the book bag Steve had dropped on his way in. It was strange, suddenly, to not be able to smell the intense scents that came with every new person. Bucky hadn’t presented yet, so he wouldn’t smell like anything. Steve knew that.

But still.

Strange.

“Your Ma know you’re here?” Bucky actually laughed at that, which said a lot considering he usually spent his days trying to take the stress of five kids off of his Ma.

“No, some punk decided to play hooky and I had to track him down, give ‘em the what-for,” he pushed his hair off of his forehead, smiling. “She’ll let me off easy knowin’ you presented. You should probably expect a pie in the next couple days, though.”

“Just a pie? Buck, I think you’re underselling your Ma a bit. You know damn well she’ll be sending over the whole Bakery,” he shook his head, throwing himself down on the lumpy old mattress. A plume of blooming flowers billowed up, the faintest hint of sawdust tickling his nose.

“Yeah, but knowin’ your Ma, she’ll probably be talked down to just the Pastry bar,” Bucky rolled over him, flopping down so his feet were against the wall and his head was next to Steve’s hearing ear. “Say, Evelyn said you smelled just like Ma’s apple pie, the one she made for your birthday. Wouldn’t it be funny if I turned out to smell like your Ma’s Cider? We could match.”

“Like you’d smell like anything but Ma’s onion broth, you dunce,” he laughed, something bubbling up from his stomach to his head, making him feel lighter than he had since he’d run from the school building.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing, Stevie. Your Ma makes the meanest onion broth this side o’ Bushwick,” Bucky flicked him in the ear, laughing when he pulled a face.

“Oh, yeah? You try eating it every time you’ve got so much as a _sniffle_ , Buck, if I even so much as _see_ an onion again–” he trailed off, breath wheezing in his chest. He could sense Bucky’s brow furrowing, but he didn’t want to look. Didn’t want to see all the ways Bucky couldn’t make his lungs any better.

The sun set in the silence. It lit the little room up red and gold, shining over the scuff marks on the walls and the charcoal dust on the floor. He drifted off with Bucky’s warmth cooling the sweat on his brow, easing the acidic energy eating him up from the inside.

Gold danced behind his eyelids, smelling of spiced apple cider and the warm drip of cinnamon buns straight from the oven.


	2. Drift off on the Floor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky had never Presented, but Alpha’s usually showed out around thirteen, so as time had passed, it became more and more obvious that he’d be a Beta. A good match for a pretty Beta like Susan, but he might even be able to swing an Omega if he flashed his smile bright enough.
> 
> He was just good like that. Sharp features and a sharper smile, Ma always said he could charm the pants off the Devil himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brought to you by Savior Complex by Phoebe Bridgers
> 
> Warning for mildly homophobic language and internalized homophobia

“Hey, Bucky!” Susan Sullivan called, waving from her group of friends by the old cedar tree. “You comin’ dancing tonight? It _is_ your last summer in high school, after all.”

Steve tightened his grip on his book bag, shoving down the urge to roll his eyes. Susan had been trying to get Bucky to take her out for years, but it had never taken.

It had become obvious why, after a while. Susan was a Beta, and she was pretty, sure, but everybody knew that Beta girls didn’t have a rat’s chance with an Alpha if there was an Omega nearby. Bucky had never Presented, but Alpha’s usually showed out around thirteen, so as time had passed, it became more and more obvious that he’d be a Beta. A good match for a pretty Beta like Susan, but he might even be able to swing an Omega if he flashed his smile bright enough.

He was just good like that. Sharp features and a sharper smile, Ma always said he could charm the pants off the Devil himself.

Even if an Alpha was there, Buck might be able to swing a dance with a dame.

Unless that Alpha was Steve, of course, but no gal had bothered to give him a second glance since he’d walked back into the school building two years ago smelling of pine and apples and charcoal.

Even if he was the only eligible Alpha in New York, the girls always seemed to find something better.

“Nah, maybe next time, Susie, me n’ Stevie already got plans,” Bucky smiled, wrapping an arm around Steve’s neck and dragging him in. He tried not to smile, shoving his bony shoulder into Bucky’s side as they walked off. Bucky was warm, warding off the chill that sat in Steve’s bones even through the muggy June heat.

“Your family coming over next week? Evelyn’s been scrounging up fireworks for the past month, and she thinks she’s got enough for a real show,” he asked.

“Of course, Ma’s already corralling the girls into going apple picking over the next week, see if they can find enough to make a pie,” he laughed, smiling down at Steve in that way that made his ears burn bright red and butterflies flutter around his lungs.

It felt like relief when Bucky turned back to the road, missing the blush coating his face. Still, maybe one day Steve would turn his head and find Bucky looking back.

But who was he kidding, Bucky could have any gal in Brooklyn, and he was _normal,_ anyhow. No way he’d run around chasing some skinny, asthmatic Alpha.

A bead of sweat gathered at Bucky’s hairline, shining against his dark hair and tracking its way down his temple. It was hot, but it wasn’t hot enough to break out in a sweat just from walking a few blocks, even if Steve did run cold most of the time.

“… you feelin’ alright, Buck?” he asked, tentative. There’d been a flu going around in some of the younger classes, but he hoped to God Bucky hadn’t caught anything. They were liable to be deadly, given how big the Barnes family was.

“Yeah, little hot is all,” he flashed him that smile, the one that was meant to be reassuring but usually meant he was gearing up to join a fight he wouldn’t win. “Hey, maybe your Ma will give me some of that onion broth you’re always yappin’ about.”

“I’m sure she would, if we had any onions,” he could feel the heat radiating off Bucky’s arm, through the shirt rolled up to his elbow. “How you feel about S.O.S.?”

“Oh, god,” Bucky mimed a gag, dragging Steve down as he pitched forewords. “If I never have to see a single piece of creamed chip beef in my life, I’ll be the happiest man this side o’ Manhattan.”

“Hey, it’s better than your mattress,” Steve laughed, jostling Bucky as they stood back up, Bucky dropping his arm from Steve’s shoulder. Despite the fever pitch, Steve almost missed the warmth it brought.

“ _Anything’s_ better than that mattress, you know how many kids were made on that thing?” he cackled, dodging the elbow Steve threw into his ribs. The stairs to the tenement grew creakier every day, wood swelling in the heat. The windows were thrown open, probably to let in a breeze, but Steve could hear the crackling croon of Bing Crosby filtering through the air, so maybe Ma wanted to share the radio they’d pilfered from a hotel trash bin a few years back.

Inside the apartment was even hotter than outside, wooden walls sweltering. Ma was moving somewhere in the kitchen, probably reheating the S.O.S. from last night.

“Hey, Ma!” Bucky called, throwing Steve a shit-eating grin. It was well known that Sarah Rogers had all but adopted him, even the Barnes’ joked about it.

“Bucky! You bring Steve with you?”

“Yes, ma’am, right as rain. He was telling me you could make a mean S.O.S.,” they dropped their bookbags by the door, jostling each other against the walls.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, James Barnes, now–” she stopped as she rounded the corner, nostrils flaring as she took them in. Her nose had always worked better than Steve’s, given that his… everything usually worked on less-than-optimal settings. Maybe she could smell whatever bug Bucky had caught. “… are you doing alright, James?”

“Yeah, just a little warm is all, might’ve caught a bug from the shop,” he shrugged, but Ma’s brow just furrowed deeper.

“You want some onion broth, Bucky? I think Mr. Tadberg had half a sweet he was thinkin’ about throwing out,” she walked forewords, slipping into that tone she took on whenever she was running house calls for the hospital. She settled her hand over Bucky’s damp forehead, pursing her lips. “Hey, Stevie, you mind running down and seeing if Mr. Tadberg would part with that onion?”

“Oh, you don’t–”

“Nonsense, we can’t have you catching your death out here, Bucky, besides,” she smiled, something a little sharper than innocent that made Steve cough a laugh. “Didn’t you say you liked my cooking?”

Caught, and knowing it, Bucky threw a baleful glare as Steve laughed his way out the door. Mr. Tadberg lived on the opposite side of their building on the floor above them. He was a kind man, a widowed Alpha in his sixties, and he always offered to walk Ma to and from work if she got called in late enough.

Steve was panting by the time he climbed the stairs, the scent of warm rust and worn leather filtering through the door. Ma had said that Mr. Tadberg’s wife had also been an Alpha, that she’d smelled like old paper and ink, and he’d loved her more than life itself.

They’d used to go to their church, back before Mrs. Tadberg Presented and was excommunicated, and Mr. Tadberg had walked away from both the Church and his family in order to marry her.

Ma said that they had been happy.

Mr. Tadberg opened the door with a huff, taking a deep sniff.

“Hi, Mr. Tadberg, my friend’s sick, and Ma was wondering if you’d thrown out that onion yet?” he threw on his best smile, trying to quiet the wheezing in his chest. The old man just stared at him, taking in deep breathes.

“Yeah, son,” he said after a while, “I got that onion. Your Ma mind sharin’ the broth she makes?”

“ ‘Course not,” the look Mr. Tadberg was giving him was peculiar, not unlike the one Ms. Jones had given him when he’d Presented. “Why don’t you sit on down before you collapse, boy.”

The old rocking chair on the porch whined like it was on its last legs when he sat on it, slivers poking through his pant legs and scratching at his arms. But it was a seat, and it was so much easier to breathe without worrying about falling over.

He’d almost started breathing normal when Mr. Tadberg came back, small onion in hand.

“You take care of your friend now, son,” he said, before slamming the door shut.

Steve got back to wheezing before he hit the ground floor.

Their door was cracked open, radio still crooning away, but the front hall was deserted, Bucky’s bookbag gone, the rest of the house silent.

“Ma?” he called, bewildered.

“In here, Stevie!” she replied, banging down a pot somewhere in the kitchen. He walked through the hall slowly, scanning the room for any sign of Bucky.

But why would he have left? Ma was making onion broth, and he always said goodbye.

“Where’d Bucky go?” he asked, almost before he got to the kitchen, dropping the onion on the table.

“Oh, I sent him home, sweetie, fever like that doesn’t do well out and about. Told him I’d be dropping the broth off tomorrow,” she smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“… Ma?” he walked up close to her and, God, he was taller than her now, just sprouting over her head. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing’s wrong, baby. I’m just… worried for Bucky, is all. He’s got all those little sisters, and you know how they’re prone to getting sick. But…” she trailed off, pulling at a string on the dishrag. “I think it’d be best if you didn’t go over there till Bucky gets better, sweetheart, you _just_ got over pneumonia, and I don’t need you catchin’ your death in the middle of summer.”

Not seeing Bucky. When he was sick. When he’d be cooped up in bed, staring at the ceiling till he was dizzy with boredom. Steve _hated_ _it_ when he was cooped up, and the best part of being laid up was having Bucky there, telling him stories about Becca or Alice or the shop so he didn’t lose his mind. Steve wanted to return the favor, just one.

But. It made sense. Bucky’d kill him if Steve caught a bug from him, especially a week before his birthday.

Bucky’d be okay. He had to be. He’d see him at the shindig, and that would be that.

~~~~

“What’dya mean I can’t go?” Bucky yelled, staring at his ma like she’d grown another head. “It’s Steve’s sixteenth, _and_ the fourth of July, and I’m _fine.”_

“James, you haven’t been outside much since you… _you know_ , and I think,” Ma rubbed her hand over her face, pinching her nose. “That many people at one time? You’ll get overwhelmed, baby.”

“I’ll be fine, Ma, I’ve been working with Rabbi Joseph for the past three days,” he stepped around the table, running a hand through Winnie’s curls. “He said I can hide my scent better than anybody he’d ever met, and we agreed that this wouldn’t change nothin’ if I didn’t tell nobody.”

“ _I know,_ I know, James, it’s just… I’m worried, if you slip…” she trailed off, staring down at the wooden floor, worrying her hands in her apron. He stepped closer, taking her hands in his.

“I won’t slip, Ma, I promise. Nothing bad’s gonna happen, plus it’s _Steve._ You know he’ll just get more nosey the longer I stay away,” he ducked his head, catching her eyes with a smile. “besides, you already made the pie. Can’t let all those hours of apple picking go to waste, can we?”

“You better not,” Becca called, scrunching her nose at them as she looked up from her crossword. “It took _forever_ to find all those apples, and I got stung! Twice!”

They laughed, Ma shaking her head, and he pulled her into his chest. She smelled of raisins, the deep wine she and dad pulled out on their anniversary, plums.

“We’re okay, mama, the only people that know I’m an Omega outside of this house are the Rabbi and Steve’s Ma, and she’ll take it to her grave,” he huffed. “Nurse-patient confidentiality, and all.”

“I know,” she leaned into him, shifting to nose at his scent gland near his pulse point. He couldn’t smell his own scent, not outside of the first few days of his Presenting Heat, anyways, but he’d liked it when he could smell it. Something warm and comforting, like the cinnamon rolls and spiced cider they made around the New Year.

It was a shame Steve’d never be able to smell it, not unless Bucky broke his word, anyways. He _wanted_ to tell Steve, wanted to let him know that he was an Omega, that they could fit together like two broken puzzle pieces, but Ma had started crying when he’d asked, and so Pa had put his foot down.

It was dangerous, being a male Omega. Most of them didn’t live past thirty, and usually not of natural causes. There were a couple up by Steve’s place, living at Madame DuBrough’s hotel, one of the only places in the city that offered them safety.

The only thing worse was being a female Alpha, a woman that no man seemed to care about holding back towards.

And so, most of them hid. Hiding their scent to make them seem like Beta’s, at least to the untrained nose.

Nobody really knows how much of the population Presented each way, but even if somebody counted, the numbers would probably be skewed. Nobody wanted to risk getting labeled a _queenie_ or a _dyke_ , not when it could mean losing everything.

“Alright,” he huffed, stepping back, and turning towards the table. “Get ready girls, we’ve got a party to go to.”

~~~~

The air was hot, filled with the happy chatter of families putting aside their struggles for at least half a day. Ma was busy in the kitchen, grinding up Ritz crackers to add to the ground beef the O’Malley family from downstairs had bartered from the butcher. Mr. Tadberg had dropped by an onion and a tomato from his garden, earlier, and Steve could still feel his eyes stinging from chopping it.

The house was cleaner than it had been all year. Ma had started going through it with a fine-toothed comb after Bucky had gone home sick, scrubbing it with a jitteriness Steve had never seen before. He tried to help, but he usually ended up walking on the floors she’d just scrubbed, so he’d tried to stay out of her way.

It was weird. Like she was worried for something, but he wasn’t laid up in bed and none of her clients were giving her a hard time. He’d tried asking, but she always shrugged him off with a kind smile.

He folded the old wool throw over the couch, skin on his hands turning red from the scratch of it. He hadn’t seen Bucky in over a week, the longest they’d gone since they’d met. It was tugging at him, an itch at the back of his brain he couldn’t scratch.

He missed Bucky like breathing. Missed him like a lost limb, and it _hurt._ He missed his dumb jokes, missed the ways he could make his ears go red and the way he’d wave off the girls at school to walk home with Steve.

He even missed butterflies Steve could feel stirring whenever Buck flashed him a smile, the way Steve wanted to clutch at his hand and never let go. Missed the shame that would bubble up in his throat, because even if it felt like it was choking him, it was because of Bucky.

It would never happen, Steve knew that. He was fine with watching from the side as Bucky smiled at girls.

He was.

He had to be.

He’d rather have jealousy tear him to shreds than tell Bucky and risk losing him.

Than risk Bucky looking at him with disgust, walking away and never turning back.

Because what else would he do? A male Alpha with a pair of broken lungs and half a spine, trailing after him like a lost puppy.

Pathetic.

A knock at the door startled him out of his thoughts, Ma’s humming paused in the kitchen.

“I’ll get it,” he called, shaking himself out of his stupor. He dragged the door open, wood swelling enough to be a nuisance in the heat, and the sight before him almost, _almost,_ gave him pause.

Evelyn Montgomery was smiling at him from under the arm of the tallest woman Steve had ever seen. They were like opposites, the two of them, but fit together pretty as a picture. Evelyn’s light blue summer dress stood out from the woman’s navy slacks, blonde curls brushing her shoulders where the woman had dark brown waves pinned tight to her head. They coulda been any Alpha-Omega pair walking down the street, happy as a clam, except for the small detail that they were both women.

“Heya, Stevie, this is Madeline. Madeline Montgomery.” Evelyn smiled, sharp as a shark, blue eyes twinkling. She hefted up the large box in her arms, smile turning gleeful. “Anywhere I can put this?”

“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” he smiled on reflex, her words catching up to him a moment later. “Wait, Montgomery?”

“Mmhm! She’s my old lady, picked myself a good one, didn’t I?” she giggled, leaning into the taller woman with a smile. Madeline snorted, looking down at Evelyn with enough adoration to make him want to divert his eyes. “Mama always told me to find an Alpha I’d be happy lookin’ up at, so that’s what I did.”

“Well, you wanna come in? Ma’s just finishing up the burgers, but everybody else is setting up outside,” he stepped back, holding the door open for them. The scent of peaches and walnuts swirled together, hitting him square in the face as they walked past. Evelyn dropped the box in the hall, pushing it against the wall without pulling herself from Madeline’s arms.

“Well, I can’t start setting up just yet, this place is already crawling with coppers,” she pinched her lips, pouting like having the police ruin her day in DUMBO was anything new.

“This place has always got lilly’s about, Evie,” Madeline said, voice shining with a strong English accent. “I really don’t know what you expected, easy pickin’s and all.”

“They usually peter out by mid-day anyhow,” Steve rolled his eyes, leaning against the closed door. DUMBO wasn’t the nicest area, but it would be a hell of a lot nicer if the police didn’t come by to sniff out trouble. “They’ll be back by nightfall, though. They always are.”

“Oh, did ya hear?” Evelyn asked, lifting her chin. “Delainey’s got raided last night.” 

“No shit.”

“Language!” Ma yelled from the kitchen, pulling a laugh out of Evelyn and Madeline.

It made sense, Delainey’s was the bar inside of Madame DuBrough’s hotel, which wasn’t exactly _legal_ by any means. De facto of being under Madame DuBrough’s protection, it didn’t get hit as much as the other queer bars in the area, but it was still an easy target.

“That was the first this year, yeah?” he raked a hand through his hair. He didn’t go to DuBrough’s, wasn’t old enough nor had any interest, but he knew the girls who worked there. Some of the gents, too, but they weren’t as open about it.

“It was, there must’a been a nark, too,” Madeline tightened her grip around Evelyn’s shoulders, pulling her in tighter. “They nabbed a couple o’ tilly boys, the men that were with ‘em. Evie was upstairs, though, thank God.”

“What, don’t want to come bale me outta jail, sweetheart?” she batted her eyelashes up at Madeline, but the set of her face was tense.

It always was, after a raid.

“Was anyone hurt?” Ma asked, rounding the corner, wiping her hands on a towel.

“No, Ma’am, just a little shaken is all.”

“Oh, enough with the _ma’am’s_ , Evelyn, you’ll make me feel old,” Ma laughed, glancing at Madeline, and extending her hand. “I’m Sarah, you must be Madeline?”

“Yes, it’s nice to meet you. Evelyn’s told me you’re quite the hero around here,” Madeline shook her hand, face softening.

“Oh, I do what I can. Not like anybody ‘round here can get any decent care at the hospital, just want to do my part,” Ma blushed like she always did when taking a compliment. Mr. Tadberg had told him that making Ma blush was one of Dad’s favorite pastimes, seeing what new colors he could bring to her cheeks.

“You do more than most,” Madeline smiled, turning as another knock rang through the hallway. Steve pulled the door open, grinning wide enough to split his cheeks open.

“Buck, you made it!” he pulled him into a hug, wrapping his fingers around Bucky’s suspenders. There was tension laced through his shoulders, though, something that wasn’t there the week before. Before Steve could ask, it disappeared, Bucky melting into his embrace even though he was a good head taller.

“Course I made it, punk. You really think I was gonna miss Evelyn’s fireworks?” he grinned, face bright and shining, eyes twinkling. There was the faint smell of cinnamon rolls around him, a sweet sort of spice, but the Barnes’ lived above a bakery. Bucky usually smelled like some sort of baked good.

It made Steve want to pin him against the wall and kiss the daylights out of him.

“Alright, you two, we’re baking out here,” Mrs. Barnes laughed, startling Steve out of his frankly startling thoughts. He’d never thought something like that before, and sure, he wanted to know what Bucky’s lips tasted like, but he’d never thought something so distinctly…

_Alpha_.

He unraveled himself from Bucky’s arms, poking him in the back as he stepped past the threshold, inviting the others into the house.

The entire family had come, and they were expected, but it always made him smile seeing the little girls squabble and run around, throwing Bucky for a loop more often than not. Winnie, the youngest at all of four (and a half, which she resolutely reminded him every time they met), was clinging to their Ma’s dress, hiding her face in the draping purple fabric.

“Oh, Winifred, it’s lovely to see you!” Ma grinned, stepping forewords to pull Bucky’s Ma into a light embrace. Evelyn and Madeline had backed into the living area to let the family come in, smiling and whispering to each other like a pair of young lovers.

They were still young, he supposed.

Becca, the oldest girl, came in lugging a bag that no doubt contained enough toys to keep the kids distracted the entire day. Dice and jacks and marbles, a mismatched collection gained over seventeen years and five kids. She shot Bucky a glare as she passed, like it was his fault she had to carry the bag.

It probably was, but Steve just snickered, laughing louder at Becca’s offended huff.

“She’s gonna be a fun teenager,” Bucky drawled, shaking his head in mock despair.

“Can’t be any worse than you were,” Steve goaded, knocking an elbow into his ribs. Mr. Barnes, carrying along five-year-old Georgie and eight-year-old Alice, just laughed in agreement, shaking his head at them.

“Hey, I was a _great_ teenager, I just happened to be friends with this punk who couldn’t keep his nose out of a fight,” he flicked Steve’s ear, turning to close the door behind his dad.

~~~~

Being around Steve again was… different.

It wasn’t weird, not exactly, but every time Steve looked at him it felt like a snake was writhing around in his stomach, sinking its fangs into his throat. It was for his own protection, for his family’s protection, but he was still lying to Steve.

He’d never done that before.

It made him sick, and not just with guilt.

Steve smelled rich, like pine trees and charcoal and apples in summer. He smelled happy. He smelled like _home._ It made him want to shove his face into Steve’s throat and hold him until the rest of the world melted away.

The girls sat in the main room, which had… recently been cleaned, which was weird. Neither Steve nor his Ma had much time for a deep clean, between her job and Steve’s inability to be around cleaning products without losing a lung.

It was a friendly affair, Ma and Mrs. Rogers chatting away in the kitchen as they prepped the bird Ma had brought, turning the radio onto Ella Fitzgerald and swaying in the sun. They’d known each other for a long while, longer than Bucky and Steve had been friends. Dad had been stationed with Joseph Rogers back in the war, had been the one to carry Mr. Rogers’ dog tags back home when they’d had to leave his body until the war had been won.

He still couldn’t look Mrs. Rogers in the eyes most days, and maybe that’s why Bucky and Steve didn’t meet until later. Dad had always wanted to go back and find Mr. Rogers’ body, put that empty casket to use, but it wasn’t like he’d even know where to look.

And so, he sat, talking to Evelyn and her Alpha, Madeline, desperately ignoring the ghost written into the walls.

Sometimes Bucky didn’t know how Dad did it. If it was Stevie he’d left behind, lost in a battle and unable to drag out anything but his tags, Bucky might not even bother making it home.

Slowly, the smell of roast hen filtered into the room, the sounds of children laughing and screaming floating in through the open window.

“Come on, girls, pack up. You can run around outside if you keep your shoes on,” he ruffled Alice’s hair, plucking at Georgie’s pigtails. They were adorable, Georgie was the spitting image of Ma even when she was named after Dad. Evelyn picked up Winnie, spinning her onto her hip as the girl giggled.

Madeline looked so in love it was painful. Etched deep onto her face like marble. Dad actually laughed, clapping her on the shoulder and joking about kids and homes and fulfillment. Steve snorted, picking the marbles off of the floor.

“Hey, Ma! We’re heading outside, got anything you want us to bring down?” he called out, nudging the girls towards the door. Becca poked her head out from the kitchen, red bow lopsided on her head.

“Yeah, you wanna carry the burgers down, Bucky? Me and your Ma will bring out the bird when it’s done,” Mrs. Rogers smiled, gently fixing Becca’s hair.

The day relaxed into a whirlwind of sound and noise, time bleeding into itself. Bright laughter, fun games, and Steve’s smile shining in the sun, even as he had to stop and catch his breath for the fifth time.

Bucky wouldn’t trade this day for the world.

Even as the group quieted down every time a copper strolled by. Evelyn and Madeline shifting to give each other space, then gravitating back towards each other like they just couldn’t help it. Mr. Tadberg shooting them grieving smiles, no doubt missing the Alpha woman he’d dedicated his life to.

And then the sun set.

Evelyn dragged out her box of fireworks, sniffing at Madeline when she offered to carry it for her.

“How much you wanna bet they don’t make it half the show before Madeline’s dragging her back to DuBrough’s,” Steve whispered conspiratorially, watching Evelyn bat her wife’s hands away from the box yet again. Madeline’s smile grew a little sharper each time she did it, the tilt of her head just this side of dangerous, and it made Evelyn _preen_.

“That’s a suckers bet and you know it, Rogers. Besides, you really think Evelyn’d let anything drag her away from her TNT?” He laughed, leaning into Steve’s side on the blanket they’d spread out on the dirt. Steve’s scent surrounded him, blooming bright and happy as the fireworks lit up the night sky, drawing out neighbors from their homes.

It felt like grief watching Evelyn and Madeline dance together and smile, kiss under the cloak of darkness before lighting another rocket, made something deep ache in his chest. Like want, but richer, flowing like chocolate down his spine and pooling in his gut.

He wanted to turn his head, press his lips against Steve’s and pray that he wouldn’t push him away. He wanted it so much it ached, but he’d made a promise.

One he didn’t intend to break.

No matter how much he wanted to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments are always appreciated <3


	3. As It Has Been

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sky was dark grey, winds howling against through the city. A fire crackled in their hearth; Becca curled up next to it like a cat. She’d just Presented, Heat fever leaching out of her bones and burning through anything she could keep down. Now she just felt cold, cold and grumpy and miserable, which made Bucky laugh in sympathy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brought to you by Rivers and Roads by The Head and The Heart

The sky was dark grey, winds howling against through the city. A fire crackled in their hearth; Becca curled up next to it like a cat. She’d just Presented, Heat fever leaching out of her bones and burning through anything she could keep down. Now she just felt cold, cold and grumpy and miserable, which made Bucky laugh in sympathy.

He hadn’t gone through a Heat in a year and a half, his folks dishing out to get the best underhand suppressants they could afford, but the memory of fire writhing under his skin and the deep, unsettling emptiness in his chest, in his gut, would stick with him for the rest of his life, he was sure.

The cider was warm in his hands, dropped off by Steve for New Years the week before. It was Mrs. Rogers’ recipe, but it missed the… _shazam_ of her cooking. Steve could follow a recipe just fine, but he didn’t have the touch for cooking. He’d been spending more time in the kitchen, though, his Ma feeling under the weather lately. _Weary down to her bones_ , Steve’d said.

She’d be okay, she was strong. Barely halfway through her thirties.

He didn’t know what Steve would do if she wasn’t.

Ma hummed, brushing Becca’s hair out of her face as she snuffled, burrowing deeper into her blanket.

“She should be feeling better by tomorrow. Might even be able to head to school,” Ma smiled, eyes fond. “You’re gonna have your work cut out for you, Bucky, chasin’ off all those Alpha’s.”

A sharpness twinged through him, jealously clawing up his spine. He swallowed it down, making his face go blank. It wasn’t Becca’s fault she was everything an Omega– _he_ – wanted to be, he shouldn’t be mad at her for it.

“Now shouldn’t that be dad’s job?” He asked, voice light. “He is the Alpha, after all.”

“But you’re her brother. She’ll talk to you far more than she’ll talk to either of us, and besides,” she looked at him, hand stilling. “Your dad’s not as good as he once was. You’ve got a couple of inches on him now, too.”

He did. It had shocked him, at first, shooting up those last few inches and putting on more lean muscle than he’d ever had before Presenting. All the pictures, all the novels and magazines always made Omega’s small and dainty, never taller than their Alpha counterparts. It was funny in how much it wasn’t true.

It helped him keep his cover, sure, but there had still been that jolt of dismay when he’d realized that even if he found someone who didn’t care what his d-sig was, no man wanted an Omega that could look him in the eyes, or _worse,_ look down on him.

Even Steve got bristly when an Omega had to look down her nose at him. Though Steve got bristly at damn near everything, so it probably doesn’t count.

Becca wouldn’t have that problem.

Outside, the wind howled. The leaky roof in the kitchen drip-dropped water into the bucket on the floor, an even tempo that faded into white noise.

Dad stepped out of the bedroom, shutting the door with a smooth click. The girls never did like going to bed when the rest of them stayed up, thought they were missing something fun. He looked tired, worn. He was turning forty this year, the gray at his temples stretching through the rest of his head.

There were pictures of him from the military, sharp uniform and the jaunty tilt to his hat, scattered around lockboxes and hope chests. Even when they were the same age, George Barnes looked nothing like Bucky. He took after his Ma, _the spitting image_ , the ladies at the Synagogue used to say.

But there had been a light in his eyes, captured by grainy photographs with his arm thrown around a tall blonde man, that just wasn’t there anymore. Bucky didn’t think he’d ever seen it.

The war had stolen it long before Bucky had been born.

And now there were murmurings in Europe again, a new flood of immigrants from the countries East of Germany. Where the Temple seats had once been empty, they were now full of families muttering in broken English mixed with Polish, Hungarian, Greek. None of them would say why they had left, though no one had found the words to ask.

“I’m grateful,” Ma started, breaking him out of his thoughts. She trailed off into silence, pulling Becca further into her lap.

“For what?” he rasped when she didn’t continue, taking a deep sip of his cider. It was a treat, spicy and sweet with a hint of apple.

“That you weren’t born a woman,” her smile turned wistful, fingers curling in Becca’s hair. “We’d be beating Alpha’s off with a stick, though Steve’d try his damndest to do it for us.”

He sat, fingers frozen around his glass, breath stagnating in his lungs. It hurt, hearing those words, even though he’d thought them himself whenever Becca and Ma got into it as to why she wasn’t allowed out after dusk.

He didn’t want to be a woman, he was fine with how he was, but he wanted the perks of fitting in with what his d-sig said he should be. An Omega woman could walk outside, scent unhidden, without fear of being arrest. Of being confronted. Of being denied services. All things Bucky couldn’t do, by virtue of being born _wrong._

Though, perhaps their fear of landing face down in a ditch were similar.

It was charming, though, that even in another world Ma thought he and Steve would still be friends.

“But, even still,” Ma continued, ignorant of the complexes swirling through his mind. Dad was a silent spectator, pouring himself a finger of rye as he settled on the couch. “I’m sorry for everything you’ll be missing.”

“And what’ll I be missing, Ma?” He tried; God help him he tried to keep the anger out of his voice. The grief. But apparently, he didn’t quite manage it because her face turned tense, upset. They’d skirted around this conversation for the past year and a half, never meeting it head-on. “ _Please_ , tell me, what will I never have to opportunity to experience? What kind of life will I sit by and watch everyone else live, _hm_?”

“Jamie–” she started, looking at dad in helpless desperation. He was sitting there, face pinched but offering nothing, sipping on his whiskey. She looked about three seconds from crying, and Bucky wished, _oh_ he wished he could take back his outburst. But he couldn’t.

They sat in silence for a long while, the drumming rain punctuated by Becca’s soft sniffles. It might’ve been peaceful if Bucky couldn’t feel the frustration slithering up his spine.

“Why’re you mad, Jamie?” Ma asked, eventually. She was looking at him, dark eyes searching and worry lines defined.

He scoffed, darkness curling around his throat. The cider turned to acid, burning him from the inside out.

“Why am I mad.” He laughed, cold and louder than he expected. “I’m. I don’t know, ma, maybe I’m tired of hiding–“

“It’s for your own protection,” Dad cut in, singing an old tune.

“I know it’s for my protection!” he shouted, glancing towards the closed bedroom door in the silence. It didn’t open, the girls sleeping through the noise, Becca only curling farther into Ma’s lap. His folks just stared at him, tension curling through the air.

“I know, trust me, I know. And,” he took another swallow of the cider, pinching his lips. “it’s just…”

He trailed off, pulling scraps of arguments he’d made over and over in his own head, never voicing them aloud.

He sighed.

“If anyone had to be the male omega, had to put up with all the bull, I’m glad it’s me. I’m glad Becca’s gonna have the easy life, find someone who’s good to her. The rest of the girls too,” he ran a hand through his hair, willing the shout from his voice. “I just want that for me, too, though. I want a family, Ma, wanna settle down, have a few kids, and I’m never gonna get that.”

“Oh, Bucky,” Ma sighed, pulling herself from the floor and settling down next to him. He tried not to be pulled towards her, didn’t want her comfort. He wanted to hold on to the frustration at what life had thrown at him.

“And don’t… don’t try to say it’s okay, say I’ll figure it out. Cause I won’t. I won’t find somebody to love, then make ‘em think I’m something I’m not. And I can’t just tell everybody what I am, neither,” Ma rested her head on his shoulder, gentle hands pulling him towards her neck. Dad wrapped his fingers through his hair, smoothing down the short strands. It was soft, comfortable, made the strain bubbling through his veins soften, just a little bit.

“I won’t say it’s okay, kid, because you truly got dealt a shit hand,” dad started, gentle but not soft. “But you’re strong. You’re a survivor, Bucky, and you’ll figure it out. I don’t know how or when, but you will.”

He opened his mouth, response caught in his throat, but a frantic knocking startled him out of it. Dad looked grim, brow furrowed and face pinched. Nothing good came knocking after dark.

He slid off the couch, trailing a warning hand down Ma’s arm. Outside, the rain poured down, thunder rolling in the horizon.

Dad opened the door, Evelyn and Madeline standing just outside of it, shaking in their soaked frocks.

“Oh, you poor girls,” Ma cried, snagging the throw from the back of the couch. Bucky stood after her, scooping Becca up in his arms. She was light, a few weeks past fourteen, but she’d recently hit a growth spurt, limbs long and gangly. “Come in, come in.”

The girls were curled together on the bed, keeping warm under the thin blankets. They shifted when Bucky get Becca down, turning towards her fire-bred warmth. It was adorable, four heads of dark curls in varying sizes, cuddled together in the dark.

He grabbed one of the blankets from the foot of the bed, and walked out to the hall, easing the door shut. Evelyn was already wrapped in a blanket, dripping puddles on the hardwood floors. Madeline stood behind her, eyes wild and a deep bruise marring her cheek.

“What happened?” Ma asked, slinging Bucky’s blanket over Madeline’s shoulders. She hardly twitched, gaze glazed over. Evelyn seemed similarly shaken, tears tracking makeup down her face.

“I’m pregnant,” she gasped, blinking at Ma like a child. Ma lit up like a firework, smile going bright and soft. It mellowed out when neither of the women returned it. “I’m pregnant, and– and we didn’t know, but one of the John’s could smell it, I guess. He lost it, got himself all worked up, he…”

She choked on a sob, curling her arms around her stomach. Madeline immediately snapped to, pulling Evelyn into her chest with a reverberating growl.

Ma and Dad stepped back, giving them space enough to breathe.

“He hit her stomach, right in the middle of the lobby,” Madeline said, voice low and shaking with anger. “I was workin’ the bar, got there in time that he didn’t do too much damage, but Madame DuBrough’s got a policy about caught-out girls workin’.”

“Why don’t you sit down, we’ve got some cider, and we can get you some ice for that bruise of yours,” Dad said, nodding towards the couch. “then we’ll talk. You girls have been through a lot, it’s okay to take a minute.”

They nodded, ambling over to the couch. Evelyn was tucked tight into Madeline’s side, curled into her like a floral-patterned barnacle. It would’ve been kind of adorable if they weren’t so shaken.

Ma tugged at his shirt sleeves, smoothing a hand down his arm.

“Why don’t you go get them some cider, we’ll get them settled,” she said, smile soft and sad. She was always smiling, even when dad woke up screaming and shattered one of their glasses against the wall, or a pair of distant friends showed up soaked and bleeding on their doorstep.

He didn’t know how she did it.

“I’m sorry for bursting in like this,” Madeline mumbled, chagrined. Her nose was buried in Evelyn’s curls, but her eyes flitted from Ma to dad to Bucky and back without pause. She squeezed them shut, breathing in deep. “We didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

She sounded so small. More vulnerable than any Alpha Bucky’d met before. It hit like a punch to the gut, knocking the breath out of him. He set the cider down on the table before his hands could start shaking.

“You’re welcome here anytime, Madeline,” Ma rested a hand on Madeline’s head. “Now, what’s going on, dear?”

“We can’t stay at Madame DuBrough’s anymore,” Madeline shifted, leaning into Ma’s hand. She looked like a big cat, nuzzling into the touch like she was starving for the comfort. “Evelyn was our breadwinner, and now that she’s out of work, we can’t afford the rent. We–”

She sniffled, her lower lip trembling. A flush rose high on her cheeks along with the bitter curl of shame tracing her scent, turning earthy walnuts into the sour tang of cyanide.

It was rotten, an Alpha’s anger. Made Bucky’s hair stand on end, the urge to bolt prickling up his spine as he desperately tamped it down.

Steve’s anger never felt like that, but then again, Bucky knew Steve. Would know him into death and beyond, he was sure.

“We got nowhere else to go,” Evelyn finished shakily, uncurling from Madeline’s lap. She pushed her nose into Madeline’s scent gland, the bitter scent fading as quickly as it’d come. “No tenement will take us since we’re a mated pair of gals, but we can’t stay at any of the boarding houses since Maddie’s an Alpha. We… could we…”

“You can stay here as long as you need,” dad said, wrapping an arm around Ma’s waist. The way Evelyn’s face crumpled in gratitude, tears welling up in her big blue eyes was disconcerting. She’d always seemed so strong, always brushing off the stereotypes of the soft, weepy Omega unless they’d win her more clients.

But she burrowed her way into Madeline’s arms, heedless of the audience.

~~~~

“You’re not a Beta, are you?” Bucky choked on his coffee, sputtering as he stared at Madeline, peacefully smiling from behind red-rimmed eyes. She was wearing the same clothes as last night, rumpled and sleep worn, but she seemed as comfortable in them as if they’d come fresh from the tailors.

“Um, I don’t, I mean– _what?_ ” he stammered, gulping down the too hot liquid. It was really watery, barely a spoonful of instant roast in the entire pot, but if it steeped long enough it almost tasted like the real thing.

Almost.

Madeline just laughed, gazing at him fondly. It was a weird look, since he’d only met her last summer, but given what she’d just _asked…_

“You’re not a Beta, are you Bucky?” she was still laughing, but it was softer, more sorrowful. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell. It wouldn’t do me much good to be a hypocrite anyways.”

He stared at her, and they were in the same boat, really. Her designation was as ostracized as his, at least in America. But somehow, she didn’t feel the need to hide. Didn’t mask her scent or marry a Beta or a man just to keep her cover.

“I’m not,” he huffed, rolling his shoulders to ease the aching discomfort of releasing his scent. It didn’t hurt, exactly, but it did feel… weird. Even after doing it for a year and a half, he still wasn’t accustomed to the feeling.

“Ah, I thought you were an Omega, though I couldn’t be sure. But. I have to ask,” she leaned her chin on her hand, watching him with calm eyes as he sat across from her. “This house doesn’t smell like you. Like, at all. Which, you live here, don’t you?”

“I do,” he laughed, staring down into his coffee cup. He had to be off to work soon, but the sun had barely risen over the horizon and he had time. “I, uh, I Presented two years ago, just before the Fourth. Late bloomer, y’know? Um, went down to the Rabbi, he taught me how to cover my scent, and I used to let it go when I was home. It was freeing, I hated covering my scent, made me feel like I was lying. Then, well. Mr. Bradburry.”

“Oh. I knew him, he dropped off treats for his son at DuBrough’s every couple of weeks,” she sat up a little straighter, brow furrowed. “He was an Omega?”

“Yep, and him and his Alpha were found murdered in their beds last December,” he clicked his tongue, grimacing at her sharp inhale. “They weren’t open about his Presentation, he hid his scent almost everywhere but his own home, but it wasn’t enough.”

He settled his near-empty mug on the table. It was an ugly thing, chipped ceramic stained with several generations worth of coffee and tea, but it was one of the only things that had made it through Ellis Island with his grandmother.

“So, I stopped letting my scent-free altogether. Took about a month for it to fade from the house, took even longer for the girls to get used to it. But. It’s just… safer. For everyone.” He looked at her, dredging a smile up from the weight in his chest. Out of everyone, she’d understand, but he still choked on the words.

“I’m sorry,” she smiled, tinged with sadness and a touch of grief. “I can’t say I know how it feels, I never learned how to hide my scent. In my hometown, it was tiny. Everyone knew each other. There was no such thing as secrets. So, when I Presented, I kept my head down, stayed out of trouble, and took the fastest train to London as soon as I could purchase a ticket.”

“Have you been back?” he couldn’t imagine leaving his home, leaving his family, and never seeing them again. Even if his parents hadn’t been as accepting of his d-sig, there still would’ve been his sisters to worry about.

“No,” she huffed a laugh, strained and tight. “I got on the first ship to America, nothing but the clothes on my back and my grandmother's wedding ring. Never looked back.”

“Do you miss it? Your home?”

“Oh, my home’s right here, sleeping in the next room,” she glanced at the couch, where Evelyn’s blond head was just barely poking out of a pile of blankets. “But… yeah, I miss it sometimes. I miss my friends, miss our dog, Jester, wish I could introduce Evie to my Ma and Pa, tell my gran about her, but that’s just not in the cards.” 

“I get that, the _not being in the cards_ thing. Hell, there’s a lot I want to do that just aren’t in the cards,” he stood to wash out his mug, the water running rust red for a minute before leveling out to a faint pink. “Say, how’d you get the name Montgomery, anyway?”

“Oh,” she laughed, leaning back in her chair. “ _That’s_ a fun story. My maiden name’s Bakersfield, right? And that’s what I put down at Ellis Island, I didn’t plan on changing it none. Well, I was walkin’ down the road, lookin’ for work in DUMBO, since I heard that place’s friendly towards Alpha gals, and out of nowhere, this tiny blonde Omega drops into my arms, literally.”

He stiffed a laugh, clapping his hand over his mouth.

“She was washing the windows, wasn’t she? Saw you comin’ and decided to try her luck, huh?”

“Oh, that she did,” she snorted, a pleased smiled curling over her lips. “I caught her, and shit, I was _gone._ Told her I didn’t have any money, but if she gave me a week, I’d love to take her out to dinner. Well, she accepted, and got me a job at DuBrough’s to boot. But then some Government lackey or whoever came knockin’, and I had to file for Citizenship, you know how it goes.”

He nodded; the Government was easier on the people that came through Ellis Island than those who came from anywhere else. He’d heard the horror stories from out West, people who left their families to make a living and were then trapped, unable to return home. But no one was exactly _friendly_ to immigrants, not where Uncle Sam was concerned, anyways.

“So, this is… four weeks? After I started seeing Evie, right?”

“It was three actually. You’d only been in the States for four weeks,” Evelyn teased, slinging a blanket-covered arm around Madeline’s shoulders. He hadn’t even heard her wake up, which was weird since their home was about the size of a shoebox. “Nice scent, Bucky, you smell warm.”

“Thanks, Evelyn,” he smiled, but the tension of being caught unawares with his scent out clawed its way up his spine.

The urge to hide itched under his skin.

“Right, I’d only known her for three weeks, been living with her most that time, and she goes, ‘ _hey, Maddie, you wanna get married?_ ’ and I didn’t know what to do with that,” Evelyn rolled her eyes, sticking her tongue out at Madeline. “As far as I knew, two gals couldn’t get hitched, could barely get mated without the powers that be crashing down on their heads.”

“Well, _obviously_ we couldn’t go down to the church and say our vows before God, but all Maddie had to do was put my last name down on her Citizenship application, and bing, bang, boom, Mrs. and Mrs. Montgomery!” she crowed. The matching smiles on their faces were damn near blinding.

It was adorable.

“Well, congratulations.” He said softly. “And congratulations on the baby, though I should warn you, Ma’s gonna knit you up a storm.”

“Oh, I think we can handle that,” Evelyn laughed, pulling out a chair to sit at the table. “My Ma gave all her baby things to my brother when he got his girl knocked up, so we’ll take all we can get.”

“Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he snorted, glancing at the clock ticking away at the counter. “Ah, shit, gotta run. Shift starts in half an hour.”

“Alright, city boy, don’t be late,” Madeline said, shooing him out the door. She twitched slightly as he covered his scent, the smell of cinnamon and bread disappearing in less than an instant.

“I’ll see ya later, don’t get into too much trouble.” He pulled his jacket on, straightening the lapels. “And don’t let Becca bully you into anything, she’s been a real shit lately.”

“Becca? Oh, she’s an angel,” Evelyn started, but the rest of her reply was cut off by the front door swinging shut behind him.

~~~~

Work was hard, work was long, a day full of lifting sea-soaked boxes and fixing up whatever boat sailed its way into the harbor. But it was a job, and if Bucky was working that meant Ma wouldn’t have to.

It meant they could save up something extra to help Steve out now that his Ma was the one coming down with a chill.

There was talk at the hospital of shifting her to the TB ward, which Steve took every pleasure in ranting about. Why they would send a woman with a chronically ill child to the TB ward, they couldn’t puzzle out, beyond the Hospital not actually caring.

“Hey, Barnes!” Nick Jamison cried, clapping him on the shoulder with all the over-exaggerated exuberance he was known for. “You take a dame home last night?”

_Huh?_

“I live with my folks and got four sisters, Nick, I ain’t taking no one home,” he laughed, staring at Nick in confusion. The guys at work had been ragging on him about finding a girl, exploring his options now that he was out of school and a full-fledged adult. He’d always brushed them off, usually with actual excuses, but the truth was he never had much interest in dames.

Especially not when he could spend the time with Steve instead.

Not like he could tell anybody that, but he’d been starting to run out of excuses.

“Well, you certainly did somethin’, your shirt smells like a goddamned bakery,” Nick shook his head, giving him a pointed look.

Oh.

Oh, _shit._

“Well, I didn’t take nobody home, but you know how the girls up North are,” he plastered on a smile, his heartbeat echoing in his teeth.

“Damn, you snagged one o’ them independent broads, huh? What would your mama say?” Nick cried, shaking him by his shoulder. He seemed… genuinely overjoyed at the thought of Bucky making time with a gal, which was strange but not unlike what the girls at school used to do whenever one of them stayed out a little too far past dark.

“Like my mama would ever know,” the sharp edges of panic were smoothed by the lie that Nick so easily placed in his mouth.

“So, come on, Barnes, spill. Tell me what she was like.” Nick was so eager to believe it, too. It was easy, to slide into the role that’d been laid out for him. Easy to come up with a few more lies, too.

“Oh, tiny little thing,” his forced smile turned real, the tension in his cheeks easing. “Feisty as all hell, damn near picked a fight with me when I offered to buy her a drink. Blonde hair, blue eyes–”

“Oh, you like ‘em pretty, huh?” Nick glanced up, throwing a wave at the group of men joking as they tugged on their gloves. “Hey, fellas, Bucky here finally took a dame out!”

A chorus of whistles and hollers echoed around the empty warehouse, them all knocking their shoulders into Bucky’s and slapping him on the back.

“What was her name?” Johnny, the forklift driver and the only one there who’d been married more than five years, asked.

“Uh–” Bucky stuttered, choking back the _Stevie_ that wanted to come out. “… Stephanie?”

“Must not’ve been that memorable if you can’t even remember her name,” Nick laughed, teasing.

“Like you could remember the name of the last girl you took out,” one of the guys shouted, followed by loud laughter and even louder hollering.

“Like he could remember the last time he took a girl out,” Johnny snorted, flipping his keys in his hand. “Alright, sun’s up, fellas, let’s get to work. Lord knows you don’t want to be standin’ here once McGellen gets here.”

At the mention of the shift supervisor, a crotchety old man that wouldn’t hesitate to send a guy packing no matter how many mouths he had at home to feed, a chorus of groans and a smattering of curses took the attention right off of Bucky. The relief was heavier than it should’ve been, especially when the guys gave appreciatory sniffs of the air whenever they passed, but the lie held.

It sat in his throat, weighty and uncomfortable, but it held.


	4. Every Bit of Bleeding Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sky didn’t even have the respect to cloud over, sun shining bright in the sky as the casket was lowered into the ground. The grass was green, waving in the nice breeze and totally, completely unaware of the heart breaking above it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brought to you by You're Somebody Else by Flora Cash. You know, I originally intended for this chapter to be the one where Steve finds Bucky at Azzano, but the Worldbuilding had other ideas.

The sky didn’t even have the respect to cloud over, sun shining bright in the sky as the casket was lowered into the ground. The grass was green, waving in the nice breeze and totally, completely unaware of the heart breaking above it.

The grief sat in Steve’s stomach, scraping harsh claws down his throat till he choked on it. His eyes burned, red and dry and empty of the tears he’d run out of three days ago.

A day after he’d held Ma’s hand as she smiled her way into heaven.

She’d always been an angel.

The dirt left fine stains on his fingers as he threw it into the grave, rocks clattering against the rough plywood.

She deserved better than a wooden box, but she woulda skinned him alive if he shelled out for something nobody else was gonna see.

It was a large crowd, standing in the stifling summer sun to say goodbye. His Ma was a good woman, had been a good woman, and she could make friends with the cockroaches burrowing through their cupboards. It was unsurprising when what felt like half of Brooklyn showed up at the cemetery.

It didn’t make Steve want to yell at them, rant and rave until they all scurried back to wherever they came from, because they hadn’t been there. They weren’t there when she was coughing into the fraying embroidered handkerchief she’d gotten from Pa. They didn’t hold her hands or her hair as she retched and sweated out whatever water he’d managed to force past her lips.

They hadn’t had to stand by and watch as her scent bloomed bright and harsh with fever, meadows turning to rot in the air.

They just came to remember her, to offer kind words when words did _nothing._

But still, Steve stood silent, wiping the dust onto his Sunday best and ignoring the Priest’s words of heaven and angels.

At least she was back dancing with dad, smiling up at the ghost she’d never been able to shake.

It didn’t make it hurt any less.

But Bucky did. Bucky, a constant shadow, dressed in charcoal gray with his hair slicked back. The past weeks, dropping off meals and medication when Steve couldn’t leave her side, sending Becca when he got caught up at work.

The crowd filtered out in a haze of niceties and sad smiles, but Bucky’s presence never budged.

He could feel Winifred Barnes’ consolidating smile, her tired eyes on the back of his head. He didn’t hear her hushed words as she pulled Bucky to the side, but he didn’t want to.

She’d want to help him. Want to give him a ride home, smother him in comforting hugs and warm foods, and he just–

He couldn’t be another charity case, taken in because he had nowhere else no go. Not even with the Barnes’.

Especially not with the Barnes’.

The workers weren’t even halfway done filling the grave, but he couldn’t stand to watch anymore. No-one stopped him as he walked off, and if they tried, he didn’t hear them. The grass squished under his shoes, navigating around headstones and flowers, mud flecking the shined leather.

It’d be a pain to wash off later. Especially now that the water had been shut off because Ma hadn’t been working.

He’d need to get a job, try and hold it this time. Maybe he’d be able to make it to winter if he stayed bundled up enough. Ma had been patching up his old winter jacket when she’d gotten sick. He could finish it, sell his lighter jacket for enough cash to buy a scarf.

It could work.

It’d have to.

Dust swirled around his feet, stirred up by kids playing soccer in the streets. They were shouting, laughing, voices echoing off of the buildings and rising into the atmosphere.

It was loud, too loud, even in Steve’s deaf ear. It made his hackles raise, nausea spinning lazily around his spine. The noise pressed into him, around him, blood rushing in his ears just making it worse.

He wanted to go home. Curl up in their dark room, under piles of blankets and towels, hearing Ma whistle from the kitchen. He wanted to ache and pace and scream, pick fights until his knuckles were bloody and he couldn’t stand straight.

It wasn’t grief anymore. Wasn’t the funk he’d sat in, trying to smile for days on end when Ma’s eyes had glazed over and any fluids she drank turned into sticky bile spat out onto the floor. This wasn’t the tears, the desperate sobbing from when he’d first come home from the moratorium, apartment empty and so, so silent.

He’d wanted to tear it apart, then. Rip it up board by board, smash the windows and throw that delicate old radio out onto the pavement. Watch it shatter into gears and lacquered wood.

But he didn’t. Because it was Ma’s, and she’d loved it.

Loved that stupid old tenement, loved the rotting doors and the creaking glass and the ghost of his dad that hung around the corners around certain times of the year.

And maybe that’s why he hated it. Because it had been hers, and nothing would be ever again.

He felt him, more than saw him. He didn’t need to, knew Bucky would be making that pinched expression, looking for the words to say and eventually setting on silence.

It’s what he’d been doing for the past month.

It was a comfort.

Steve didn’t want comfort.

The silence settled, the shouting of the kids faded into the distance, Bucky a warmth he couldn’t quite feel.

The steps creaked.

“We looked for you, after,” Bucky said, quiet but strong. “My folks wanted to give you a ride home from the cemetery.”

“I know,” he sighed, scuffing his feet against the steps. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to be alone.”

There was a fire burning its way through his gut. Hot and overwhelming and so, so terrible he wanted to keep Bucky as far away from it as possible. It was what the Bishop called righteousness, and what Mr. Tadberg called spite, and what Ma called just being human.

What she used to call it, anyways.

But it was anger, eating at him like it wanted to chew him up and spit out something unrecognizable. He was angry, always so angry he couldn’t stand it.

Being alone helped. When he was alone he couldn’t catch anyone on fire as he burned alive.

“How was it?”

“It was okay.” Mr. McCormick, their neighbor, slipped out of his door, daily paper tucked under his arm. He didn’t acknowledge them, the old man as close to a hermit as you could get in New York, but Steve could feel his attention. “She’s next to dad.

They walked up a few more steps in silence.

“I was gonna ask…” Bucky trailed off, voice light in that way when he knew he was picking a fight.

“I know what you’re gonna say, Buck. I just…” he couldn’t find the words.

Well, that was a lie. He knew exactly the words he wanted to say. Wanted to lace them with poison and tell Bucky to leave and never come back, to stop treating Steve like he was a charity case he needed to pretend to like.

But he couldn’t say them. He knew they weren’t true, knew Bucky wasn’t a flake, that he was just an easy target that wouldn’t leave if Steve’s words got a little too sharp. Hit a little too deep.

“We can put the couch cushions on the floor like when we were kids. It’ll be fun! All you got to do is shine my shoes, maybe take out the trash.” He walked over to the railing, kicking aside the brick they kept their spare key under. “Come on.”

“Thank you, Buck,” he swallowed down his heart, “but I can get by on my own.”

“The thing is, you don’t have to,” he looked at him from under his lashes, face tilted towards the ground. Bucky clapped his hand on his shoulder, the warmth of it shocking Steve down to his core. He was pretty, with his slicked-back hair and pressed suit, and it _burned._ “I’m with you till the end of the line, pal.”

Steve sighed, glancing up at him with a smile.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Bucky laughed, dropping his hand as Steve turned to unlock the door.

The hallway was dark, quiet. The smell of chemicals overrode the lingering smell of disease, and it turned his stomach.

He hated this place, this home with its ghosts living in the walls and flowers dying on the table.

He didn’t know how Ma managed to live here for eighteen years, his very existence a reminder of someone she couldn’t live without. There weren’t very many pictures of Joseph Rogers, but Steve knew he looked like him. A strong jaw and blonde hair, it must’ve hurt her to watch him grow up alone.

“There’s, uh, there’s cider in the kitchen. Help yourself,” he shrugged off his coat, draping it over the back of the couch. It was an old thing, overstuffed with more patches than the original fabric, but it was comfortable when he face-planted onto it, letting out a deep groan at Bucky’s laughter.

“Don’t catch a spring in your eye,” Bucky said, settling down on the floor next to Steve’s head. He grumbled something at him that started as an insult to his mother but got lost on the way out of his mouth.

They sat in silence for a long while, the cushions threatening to break Steve’s nose against the weight of his head.

It was… nice.

He could picture it, living with Bucky. Just the two of them against the world, Bucky smoking cigarettes out the window and talking about the dames he’d taken out on dates while Steve sat on the couch and drew.

It had been startling, that winter evening when Bucky had come by after work, smelling faintly of cinnamon and sweets that trailed after him like a fine cologne. He’d fumbled through an explanation, about the girl he’d met after work the day before, _Stephanie._ Ma had given him a _look_ at that, but it was probably due to Bucky makin’ time with a gal outside of marriage than anything else.

It was still odd, all those months later, when Bucky swung by smelling like flowers or vanilla or whatever else the dames he took out smelled like. He didn’t talk about it beyond brash smiles and vague descriptions, but it seemed like Bucky was enjoying himself.

The silence settled around them, comforting and suffocating in turns. His lungs ached, his gut felt tight and stretched like the soft give of a still healing bruise. He hadn’t gotten into a fight in months, too tired from looking after Ma to go looking for one, but he knew the feeling like the back of his hand.

Ma would want him to be happy. Ma would want him to move on, to escape her ghost and settle down somewhere new, the thing she’d never been able to do. But Ma was dead, so who cared what she would want.

It wasn’t like she was there to see him tear himself apart.

Steve broke the silence, voice muffled by the couch.

“I don’t think we can afford Crown Heights.”

“What?” Bucky asked, still lounging on the threadbare carpet. He sounded like he’d been half asleep.

“For a place. I don’t want to live here anymore, and Crown Heights is pricey. Your folks can barely manage it, and that’s with your job,” he twisted, pushing himself up to face Bucky. “I know how much you love Crown Heights, and I can’t ask you to leave it, can’t ask you to leave your family. I can make it–”

“No, listen, Steve, there’s a tenement down in Brooklyn Heights. One room, got running water, and it’s near the docks. We could do it, move in together,” he was pleading, desperate and aching and it made Steve _hurt._ “You don’t have to do this alone.”

“And you’d leave your family? You’d leave Becca and the girls? You adore them, Buck, you wouldn’t take a job down in Gravesend because you’d be away from home too long,” Steve huffed, dragging a hand through the hair limp on his forehead.

“Steve, we’ve got nine people living at our place, now. Nine. And Evelyn’s due in the next month. _Yes,_ I want to move out,” Bucky sounded slightly hysterical, which, him and his father were the only men in a household of _nine,_ soon to be ten. Steve might be a little hysterical too. “And you’re my family, too, pal.”

He sighed, closing his eyes against an already lost argument. No matter how stubborn Ma always said he was, Bucky could match him tit for tat.

“ _fine._ But you know you won’t be able to bring any dames home if it’s a one-bedroom,” he said with a little more venom than was warranted. Probably. Most people probably didn’t get irritated with their friends making time, but that slimy green feeling winding around his heart just held on tighter.

Bucky’s smile was blinding, his eyes gleaming in that way they very clearly _weren’t_ when he was talking about his dates.

It was addicting.

That slimy green feeling faded into oblivion, leaving a tainted shadow in its wake.

“Not a problem, Stevie. It’s not a problem at all.”

~~~~

There was a problem.

There was _such_ a big problem, Dad had chewed him out about it for damn near an hour. Had Bucky thought over the implications and complications of an unmated Omega living with an unmated Alpha? Yes. Had he come to terms with the fact he’d be hiding his d-sig from the person he’d be sharing two rooms and a bathroom with? Yes. Had he figured out how he was going to hide the little bottle of pills he took out once a quarter like clockwork? No.

But he was working on it.

He _was,_ and he and Steve’d already signed the paperwork, so it wasn’t like he could back out even if he wanted to.

Which he didn’t.

He’d deal with it, he’d been hiding his d-sig from Steve for two years, and they were practically attached at the hip. What were a few more hours in the day, really?

A lot, apparently. It was a lot.

Steve was everywhere. Which, given that they lived together, shouldn’t be surprising.

But it was.

Steve was curled up on the couch, working on commissions when he came home from work. He left Pots of coffee out whenever Bucky had a day off and slept in. He declined Bucky’s invitation to go out but was always fast asleep on the couch, curled in his Ma’s old blanket like he’d been waiting for Bucky to get home.

Bucky never stayed the night with his dames, mostly found ones that weren’t… _interested,_ and offered to ward off any creeps. It was fun, talking and dancing and walking them home at the end of the night. Leaving them a kiss on the cheek on their doorstep so their fathers watching from the window wouldn’t get suspicious.

He enjoyed himself, but he’d enjoy himself a lot more if Steve was there.

The knock came on a Saturday, out of nowhere. It was morning, early enough that the September heat hadn’t soaked through the wood yet, but the sunlight shone brightly through the windows.

“Evelyn’s having the baby!” Alice cried, almost before he’d opened the door. All four girls were there, led by a particularly frumpled Dad. He looked so flustered Bucky almost felt sorry for him.

“Already?” Steve asked from the couch, sketchbook abandoned on the table.

“Well, it _has_ been nine months,” Bucky laughed, pulling the door open all the way to let them in. Becca looked disgruntled in a way that could only mean she was dying of embarrassment, probably because of the mere mention of having a baby. She was at that age, babies had been weird to him at fourteen, too.

“Steve!” Winnie yelled, launching herself at him, bowling him over onto the couch.

“Hey, Win,” he laughed, shifting so she wouldn’t catch any of his bony joints in her stomach. “How’re you doing?”

“Good! Why don’t you come over anymore?” she pouted, and it was adorable enough to be funny the way Steve melted.

“Him and Bucky live together, Winnie,” Becca said, dropping her bag by the couch and poking Steve in the calf. She sounded tired. Which, to be fair, now that Bucky was out of the house, she was the oldest of four. “We don’t really have any more room in our home, anyways.”

“So? We haven’t finished Little House in the Big Woods, yet, and it doesn’t sound the same when _you_ read it,” Winnie huffed, sliding off of Steve to glare at Becca. At five and a half, she copied their Ma’s look of disappointment surprisingly well.

“Well, you’re here now, so why don’t we see how far we can get?” Steve offered, laughing at Winnie’s crow as she whipped the book out of her bag even before Steve finished talking.

“I’m going to head to the Temple, are you okay watching them?” Dad stepped up next to him, watching the girls and Steve with a faint smile.

“Yeah, we’ll be fine, but service started at nine, didn’t it?” Bucky asked, leaning against the wall. Honoring Shabbat was a little harder now, living with Steve, than it had been at home, but Steve tried to help. He’d prepped all the food for today, made sure Bucky wouldn’t have to worry about making challah or cholent when his boss wouldn’t let him off with enough time to finish everything before sunset.

It was nice, that Steve took the time to learn his customs. He even participated some, though he wasn’t one for much leisure.

At least it meant there was one day of the week when Bucky didn’t have to worry about fishing him out of a dumpster. That might’ve been Bucky’s favorite part.

“It did, but Evelyn felt the baby coming right as we were leaving, and I had to run and get the midwife. Your Ma will come get the girls once everything’s… safe,” Dad said, mouth twisting. He enjoyed Shabbat more than most, which was saying something considering it was everyone’s favorite day of the week, and it probably rankled him that he was losing it this week, even if it was for a good reason. 

“Well, have fun. Don’t let Rabbi Joseph give you too hard a time,” he jostled his elbow into Dad’s, laughing at his disgruntled look.

They didn’t have much in the way of games, just a deck of cards and a checkers board, most of their things from childhood left with the girls. It didn’t seem to be a problem though. Alice, Georgie, and Winnie piled themselves around Steve, waiting impatiently for him to find the page they’d left off with Laura Ingles.

Becca sat a little ways away, intently not paying attention to the crowd next to her. One hell of a teenager, she was. Steve’d been reading to her since she was eight and patently refused to touch the required reading her teachers assigned.

Bucky was pretty sure Ma had adopted Steve then and there when she walked in on him reading Becca’s history book to her while she astutely took notes, saving her from being held back a grade. She’d gotten better since then, finally doing her own reading, but she still preferred numbers to words unless someone else was reading them.

He peeked his head into the kitchen, the pot of cholent kept warm on a low burner. He snagged the checker's board from the small table by their bedroom door, smiling at Becca’s flat look when he placed it in front of her.

“Come on, see if you can beat me this time,” he smirked. “You got close last time.”

“Only because you _cheated_ ,” Becca groused, shooting him a look.

“It’s not my fault you get distracted easily,” he laughed. She always liked playing as red, liked being able to go first. “Maybe if you paid attention, you’d notice your kings going missing before they were all gone.”

“Careful,” Steve budded in. “Keep giving away your strategies and she might turn the tables.”

Becca stuck her tongue out at him, dropping her first piece into the corner.

~~~~

“Her name’s Isla!” Bucky’s Ma crowed, even before Bucky had finished opening the door. “Isla Marie Montgomery.”

“How’s Evelyn doing?” Steve asked, settling his copy of The Sword in the Stone down on his knee. They’d finished Little House in the Big Woods sometime near lunch, and the girls had patently refused to do anything but listen to him read.

It was heartwarming. He hadn’t realized how much he missed reading with the girls until Winnie had wormed her way into his lap. They were darling, and even Becca had let go of her innate desire to be ‘cool’ and openly listened while throwing checkers at Bucky. 

“Oh, she’s doing swell. She’s a strong girl, and Madeline hasn’t left her side for a moment,” she bustled through the tenement, setting the fairly large pot she’d brought down on the kitchen table. “I brought cholent! Though we do need to save some for the happy family, once they’re feeling up to eating.”

“You’re welcome to stay the night, Ma,” Bucky smiled, wrapping an arm around her and kissing her temple. “That way you won’t have to walk back after dark, and I’m sure Evelyn and Madeline would like some peace and quiet.”

“Oh, won’t be any peace or quiet with that baby around. She’s got a set of lungs on her, even louder than Becca was,” she laughed at Becca’s cry of ‘ _ma!’,_ ruffling the teen's hair. “They were talking about finding their own place when I left, maybe moving back to DuBrough’s, but they don’t know if they can afford it. Especially now that Madeline’s instincts will be going batty around Evelyn.”

“Well, I’m sure they’ll figure something out,” Steve said. Winnie was passed out in his lap, snoring away like an adorable little motorcar. “We’ve still got some leftovers from lunch, but I think Mr. Barnes is still at the Temple.”

“Oh, he won’t be back till late, dear, don’t you worry about eating without him. He gets… squeamish around babies,” she smiled, shoving the pot onto the already lit burner.

“Well, he knows to come back here, anyhow,” Bucky clapped his hands together, startling the girls out of their afternoon drowse. “Alright, come on, let’s wash up. We’ve still got some Challah left over, and the first one to the table gets the biggest slice.”

The girls laughed, jostling each other as they raced to wash up.

“Come off it, one day they’re going to realize that you’re full of shit,” Steve laughed, rubbing at the drool stain on his pants.

“But that day ain’t today, pal. Plus, can’t see you complaining when Ma sneaks you an extra slice,” he wrapped his arm around Steve’s shoulders, tugging him in. “All these years and she still thinks she’s gonna fatten you up if she keeps feeding you.”

“I think she’s just glad I’ve stopped fighting her when she tries to feed me,” he shook his head. Mrs. Barnes had the most devastating look of disappointment Steve’d ever seen. He’d almost started crying the first time she’d leveled it at him at the tender age of twelve.

Bucky just laughed, smiling at the girls squabbling over the sink. He looked beautiful like that, Steve realized like a shot through the heart. Hair soft and smile softer, face lit up by the setting sun and surrounded by his family.

It was surreal, almost, that Steve was allowed to be a part of this.

“Hey,” he asked suddenly, voicing his question before it had even finished processing in his mind. “Do you want kids?”

Bucky glanced at him, startled. “I mean… yeah. Yeah, I do.”

His smile changed, then. Twisted into something like melancholy. It was strange, seeing it on his face when there was a copy of the feeling winding its way up Steve’s throat. Even if Bucky somehow, _somehow,_ by some miracle from God, returned Steve’s feelings, Steve’d never be able to give him kids. Both on the fact that Steve was an Alpha who couldn’t even pop a knot, and Bucky wasn’t an Omega.

And the fact that they were both guys.

Steve wouldn’t take that option away from him.

He kept smiling, though. Didn’t want Bucky to read through his realizations.

“Don’t know how that would happen, though.” _Wait, what?_

“… The normal way?” Steve laughed. Bucky’d have no problem finding a gal willing to settle down with him, and as a Beta, he’d probably have no problems having a few kids.

“Shut up,” Bucky’s ears tinged pink, which was honestly a miracle in itself. He never blushed like Steve could, which was a crime if Steve ever saw one. “What about you?”

“Eh, I don’t know. Wouldn’t really want to risk passing any of this on,” he gestured vaguely to himself, ignoring the downturn of Bucky’s mouth even when it curled around his heart like a hug. “Besides, I’d have to find a dame to do that.”

“There are plenty of dames on Brooklyn, Stevie, all you gotta do is look.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we've hit the end of what I had prewritten! We'll be winging it from here, so bear with me.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I'm Wit, you can find me on Tumblr, I don't know when I'll be updating this fic, but I plan on finishing it!


End file.
